


going, going, gone

by thispieceofmind



Series: where are we now [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Hate Sex, M/M, idk - Freeform, it's basically a PWP but not really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-18
Updated: 2013-03-18
Packaged: 2017-12-05 19:04:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/726848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thispieceofmind/pseuds/thispieceofmind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He hates how perfect he is, how perfect everyone finds him, with the soft hair and bright eyes and charm. He hates how everyone wants him, how everyone has to be talking about him. He hates how fucking personable and sweet he is, and how it’s genuine. Louis hates everything about him, because everything about him is <em>good.</em>"</p>
            </blockquote>





	going, going, gone

“Not everyone fucking wants you,” Louis snaps once they’re in the elevator.  

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Harry snaps back, narrowing his eyes at Louis like he’s staring into a light that’s too bright. Louis wants to snicker at him.  

“The way that you looked at that receptionist was fucking ridiculous, Harry, Jesus Christ. She was just giving you a key card, for fuck’s sake!” Louis folds his arms across his chest and rolls his eyes.  

“I didn’t look at her like anything, Louis. I took the key and said thank you. You need a goddamn reality check. I did nothing to you. Why do you hate me so much?” Harry asks, and he almost sounds desperate. Louis scoffs.  

“God, you’re such a child. All you do is fuck women and try to look cute. It’s not fucking working.” 

“What the hell are you talking about? You don’t know anything about me anymore, Louis.”  

Louis taps his foot. This elevator is taking forever. He just wants to go to sleep. “Yeah, all right. Doesn’t mean I don’t see what you do.”             

“You have no idea what I fucking do, Louis. You should goddamn know that people are always making shit up about all of us.” 

The elevator dings. Louis glares at Harry for a moment, and says, “You have no idea what you’re doing.” 

Louis walks off, and he’s not so sure if he knows what he’s doing either.  

*** 

Harry is even more pointedly cross at him the next day, staying away with a cold stare only when he finds it necessary, and Louis thinks he’s a child. He ignores the fact that he started it. It’s only until the elevator do they speak again.  

“The cold shoulder isn’t pretty on you.” 

“Didn’t know you thought I was pretty at all,” Harry mutters. “And it’s not like we talk on a regular basis, so fuck off. I’m not obligated to be nice to you.” 

“You’re right, you’re right. But it doesn’t mean that you’re not usually. I just think it’s cute when you try to win my affection when you know I probably just want you to fuck off.” 

He hears Harry suck in a breath. He’s not looking at him. “I didn’t know you hated me that much.” He sounds sad.  

“Cute,” Louis mutters.  

“Why do you hate me?” Harry asks, and Louis remembers that he asked the same thing yesterday. 

“God, can’t you see it?” 

“Would I be asking if I could?” Harry bites.  

Louis laughs. “Ooh, snippy. Do you bite?” 

“Not like you would know. Or remember.”  

“Remember? Darling, what are you trying to imply here?”  

Harry takes a step forward, moving so their faces are not too far apart, and Louis is forced to look up into Harry’s eyes. “I’m  _implying_  that you used to be my best mate, and then one day, you moved out, called me a fucking twat and some other things that I don’t really want to remember, and broke my fucking heart, yeah? I’m  _implying_ that we have memories together, and you’re too much of an insensitive bastard to recognize them. And your head is too far up your arse for you to even tell me why you hate me so much.” 

The elevator dings, and Harry storms out.  

Louis has to force himself to laugh about it.  

*** 

Louis mostly hates Harry because he’s jealous. It’s childish and stupid, but how can he stay friends with someone when every last thing they do makes him tick? He hates how perfect he is and how perfect everyone finds him, with the soft hair and bright eyes and charm. He hates how everyone wants him, how everyone has to be talking about him. He hates how fucking personable and sweet he is, and how it’s genuine. Louis hates everything about him, because everything about him is good. He can’t take it. He can’t take those parts of him because he wants them. He wants those parts, but he knows he can’t have them, so seethes malice and anger at Harry through gritted teeth and a veil of lies. 

It seems to work well enough.  

Harry ignores him again, a permanent line between his eyebrows during the car rides to and from the venue, on stage and even when he’s laughing he still seems distant. It makes Louis squirm—a little—because he hates him, but he hates ruining him too, because then he has nothing to hate him for. When the show’s over, they’re backstage and buzzing—like after any show—and Niall, Liam and Zayn have already gone.  

“Seemed a little tense tonight,” Louis mutters offhandedly. He’s not exactly sure what kind of game he’s playing.  

“Wouldn’t you know,” Harry spits.  

Louis moves closer and pulls the loose thread off of Harry’s shirt. “C’mon, Harry, lighten up.” 

“Fuck off.” 

“Don’t be so rude, angel. That’s not playing very nice, is it?” 

“Honestly, fuck off,” Harry says again. “You’re such a hypocrite.” He tries to push past Louis, but he’s standing his ground. Louis isn’t sure why Harry isn’t trying harder, though. He’s so much bigger, Louis feels half his size.  

“What…do you need me to kiss you better? Like when we were mates and wee babes and I would always kiss your cheeks?” 

Harry breaks. “Don’t,” he says. “Don’t, Louis.” 

“Just one kiss, then, huh? All right, if you insist.” Louis stands on his tiptoes and presses a kiss to the corner of Harry’s mouth. He feels Harry shudder. “Cute,” Louis murmurs curiously. “And what did that make you feel like, Harry? Like we were still kids? That you don’t make me want to tear my hair out? Hold on to it, darling.” 

He leaves and wonders what the fuck he’s doing.  

*** 

“I like that little shiver you had earlier…when I kissed you. What would you do if I did it again—cry?”  

Harry rolls his eyes and closes in on himself. “What are you messing at here, Louis? Do you like doing this to me? You know this hurts me. Are some kind of sadist?” 

“You think so highly of me,” Louis laughs.  

“I used to,” Harry mutters.  

“Is that so?” Louis steps closer to him; makes it so his back is against the elevator wall.  

“The very truth,” Harry breathes, and Louis thinks he might sound more airy than usual.  

“And what about now?” Louis asks, breath on Harry’s collarbone.  

“You hate me,” Harry gets out.  

“Still would like to see you shiver again.”  

“Get away from me,” Harry mutters, and jerks forward. Louis presses his hands to Harry’s shoulders and holds him back.  

“Lying to yourself is the first step to insanity,” Louis says.  

“What the fuck is that even supposed to mean? Just—just go away, Louis. All you’re doing is torturing me!”  

“You’re cute when you writhe,” Louis states simply. Harry groans and gives up, going limb against the wall.  

“I just need to go get drunk,” Harry says, and it’s more to himself than to Louis.  

“And what will you do there? Find a pretty girl to fuck?” 

Harry fists his hands in his shirt. “Like I said before, you don’t know anything about me.” He looks down, and Louis squeezes his shoulder.  

“You think that everyone wants you, don’t you?” Louis says, close to his ear. He watches the goose bumps appear on Harry’s skin.  

“Shut up!” Harry roars, and then he’s leaning forward, and kissing Louis. Louis is pushing on his shoulders but moving closer, breathing hot into his mouth and biting at his cherry red lips. Harry’s hands come to grip his waist to keep him close, and Louis cups his face. It’s not a pretty kiss, it’s a kiss that hurts. It’s all teeth and tongue and Harry’s back must ache pressing into the elevator wall. Louis tugs at his bottom lip when he pulls back.  

“You do, you think that everyone wants you,” Louis says again.  

“No, no, I don’t.”  

The elevator dings. Louis looks at Harry, and when his eyes go darker, he knows that Harry’s going to follow. “Right, of course,” Louis says passively, and walks down the hallway to Harry’s suite. Once the door is open, Louis shoves Harry in with a push at the small of his back. “Have a seat, if you will.”  

“You can’t tell me what to do.” 

“I can do whatever I want, Harry. And you’ll listen, I know your type.” Louis stands in front of him so their knees barely touch. He feels bigger like this; looking down. “Y’know, I reckon you don’t even fuck those girls from the clubs—from the news—do you?” Harry is staring up at him with big eyes, and Louis can see his cock through his jeans. “Turns out you really like a good cock, though, yeah?” Louis leans down and skims his mouth along Harry’s jaw, bites, marks a little. “Isn’t that cute,” he says, his breath skimming over Harry’s face and making him shiver again. He licks Harry’s pouting bottom lip. “You’re such a little bitch.” Louis pauses and hums. “Maybe the newspapers are right. You seem like a slut for it.”  

Harry whimpers. “You don’t know anything.” 

“Don’t I?” Louis scoffs. “Am I not getting everything right, now? Do you not beg for it like a whore? I know you must like a good cock up your arse.” 

Harry whines and leans back when Louis shoves his shoulders and crawls into his lap. Louis fists his hands in Harry’s hair almost to the point where it hurts, and he kisses him again, grinding down into his lap teasingly, still biting his lips to the point where they’re bright red and puffy.  

Harry is the one who pulls back, eyes brighter than usual. “I’ve figured it out now,” he says. “I know why you hate me, Louis.” 

Louis laughs. “Do tell.” 

“You’re jealous. You’re jealous and I can see it.” 

Louis laughs. “Maybe you’re the one who’s got it all wrong, then, Harry.” It’s a lie, and they both know it.  

“I don’t even know what you have to be jealous of, Louis,” Harry continues, like Louis hadn’t even interrupted. He smooths up Louis’ arms and Louis shakes his hands off. “Really, I don’t.” 

Louis growls and slams Harry further against the bed, pressing his hands so far into Harry’s shoulders that it hurts and licks into his mouth sloppily. He bites at his neck and jaw and grinds down into Harry’s lap just to feel him whine underneath him. He wants him to understand. “You don’t fucking get it. Nobody gets it. You’re just a fucking kid, Harry, and I hate you for it. I hate you for so many things.” Harry frowns and recoils. He looks genuinely hurt. “And I’m gonna fuck you now, and you’re gonna take it. And tomorrow, I’m gonna keep on hating you.”    

Harry’s eyes are watery, but he lets Louis kiss him…listens when Louis tells him to strip and turn over. Louis runs a hand down Harry’s smooth back and over the bumps of his spine. “Fuck, Harry. You’re so goddamn perfect. Fucking hell.”             

“M’not,” Harry mutters.  

“Shut up,” Louis snaps. He retrieves lube from his back pocket, slicks up his fingers and looks at how Harry’s cock bobs between his legs. “You fucking love this, don’t you?” He runs a finger down Harry’s crack and presses a finger against his hole. “Such a little slut. Perfect fucking slut.” Harry whines and Louis slips a finger in, watching as Harry immediately rocks back on his hand and keens high. It’s not long before he’s begging, asking for more, and Louis gives it to him, slipping another in and scissoring his fingers, stretching him out and listening to him let out high pitched noises and begs. By the time Louis’ got three fingers in him, he’s babbling and moaning, and Louis would really like some peace and quiet. “God, seriously, Harry, shut up.” Harry stops whining, and Louis holds his fingers on Harry’s prostate just to have him shudder and writhe and not be able to handle it.  

“Fuck me already,” Harry says.  

“Jesus, did you forget the lovely manners Anne taught you? Ask nicely, you mongrel. Beg for it.” 

Harry whines again, and Louis thinks he’s such a child. “Please, Louis, get your cock in my arse. Please.” 

Louis shrugs, pulls his fingers out with no warning and pushes into Harry, getting his hips flush to his arse with lube and a condom with just as little notice. Harry falls to his forearms and lets his forehead rest against the mattress. Louis curls his fingers around Harry’s skinny hips and presses his fingers into the sharp bones there. He holds on with a tight grip, intending to leave marks. He wants Harry to remember this and think about it. Louis fucks him hard and fast, biting at his back, leaving marks and grunting when Harry clenches around him after he nips too hard. Harry’s loud and vocal, and Louis can’t deny that it’s hot (other than the fact that it’s kind of annoying).  

“You like getting fucked so much, my God, Harry,” Louis says, his hips snapping against Harry’s arse, fingers squeezing tighter on Harry’s hips and his breath cascading down Harry’s neck. “Don’t know why I didn’t do this sooner. You’ve got a nice arse, and you’re just letting me fuck it.” Louis laughs dryly. “Didn’t expect you to be so willing.” 

Harry whines high in his throat. “Just—finish.” 

“You wanna be done so soon? I thought you liked my hands all over you, my cock, my mouth.” 

“Louis, please.” 

“There we are,” Louis says, and it’s softer than he intends, but he’s reaching for Harry’s cock and running his thumb over the slit to hear Harry whimper. It only takes a few pumps of his slick hand before Harry is coming all over his fist, and he’s still fucking him—fucking his body where it’s given out, and he’s whining, still taking it. Louis bites into Harry’s back again when he comes, hips sputtering until they stop. He pulls out, sitting back on his haunches, peeling off the condom and watches as Harry rolls onto his side and smiles at the ceiling, sleepy and sated and what—in another life—Louis would consider adorable.  

Louis stands and throws out the condom, pulling on his trousers and tossing his shirt over his head. Harry’s stare has moved from the ceiling to his body. “What?” Louis says.  

“You’re not staying?” 

Louis laughs. “I fucked you, Harry. It’s not a sleepover. We’re not gonna cuddle up and hold hands and share secrets until two a.m.”             

“Oh,” Harry says as if he didn't already know.              

“I’m going,” Louis mutters, peeling his gaze away from Harry, naked and beautiful and everything he’s denied himself for three years. He hates him.  

“You’re always going,” Harry sighs.  

Louis leaves, and the door clicks shut behind him.  

He’s gone.


End file.
